


I will sleep no more but arise

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacing the walls of the city, Ecthelion meets someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oceans that have been calm within me

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Part of my art/fic exchange with Silje.  
> 1\. I have loved Glorfindel and Ecthelion for a decade; this is my first attempt at actually writing them.  
> 2\. Title, and chapter headings, from Whitman. _“I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.”_

At this time of night, Ecthelion was used to the only company on the high walls being the silver weight of the moon and the dull flap of the banners on the turrets above him. He liked the late night shifts, in fact, for that very reason: the silence, the stillness, the solitude. He spent so much of his day surrounded by bustle and movement that walking the high wall alone – rolling into the count of his steps, the easy, well-worn tread of his watch – was almost more relaxing than sleep. 

And so the figure leaning against the battlements, gazing out over the valley to the mountains, was unexpected. So unexpected, indeed, that Ecthelion was no more than an arm’s reach away before his conscious brain kicked in and told him he was no longer alone. He knew he should be alarmed by his own inattention, but just now, he was too curious to do more than pause. 

The figure was lightly dressed in a sleeveless tunic and leggings, and his hair fell long and loose down his back. As Ecthelion watched, the wind lifted it lightly, sending it streaming over the battlements, bright in the light of the moon; a golden banner in itself. 

“You’re out late, Glorfindel.” 

The figure turned at his voice, and his face lit with a smile. “Ecthelion! I suppose I should have known that you’d be keeping your watch here tonight.” 

“Aye, this is the logical place for me to be tonight, if not for you.” 

It was Glorfindel’s night off, if he remembered correctly, and surely he would be spending such a night of freedom with friends in the city, or even just catching up on sleep in his own quarters. Not pacing lonely battlements, looking uncharacteristically pensive. 

“Ah, well.” Glorfindel turned his face to the sky, smiling faintly. “I had a yen for starlight.” 

 _Sentimental_ , Ecthelion’s brain told him, though it didn’t stop the tightening of his chest. … _But rather lovely._

He knew he should continue his procession along the wall, but found himself instead resting his elbows on the battlement alongside Glorfindel, staring out over the dark valley. “It is a clear night for your stargazing, at least.” 

“Yes,” agreed Glorfindel, leaning forward once again, his bare arm brushing lightly against Ecthelion’s. 

They stayed there in silence a while, Ecthelion trying to avoid shooting sidelong looks at his companion. Glorfindel’s light eyes were almost opaque in the moonlight, and he appeared lost in thought. 

Ecthelion was about to pull himself up and resume his watch, when Glorfindel spoke, his voice soft, “I have had a difficult time sleeping, of late.” 

Ecthelion didn’t know how to respond to this. “Oh?” 

“Yes.” Glorfindel shivered suddenly, and Ecthelion could see the goose bumps rise on his skin. He resisted the urge to offer Glorfindel his cloak, fearing it would come off as overly solicitous. The other urge, to run his own hands over Glorfindel’s arms to warm him, he dismissed as the product of lack of sleep.  _And sentimentality._  

“Lately I have found the walls of my room oppressive,” said Glorfindel, so quietly that Ecthelion had to lean forward to catch his words. “And when I lie in my bed, the stillness, and the darkness feels…overwhelming. It is just a trick of my mind, I know, but it feels that the walls close in on me, and it is hard not to respond to such a sensation.” He twitched his shoulders impatiently. “It feels foolish to react to such a thing with fear. It is certainly not as dangerous as any battle, and there is nothing that can harm me in the shadows of my own quarters. And yet,” he broke off, his handsome face tense, and once again Ecthelion had to keep himself from reaching out to wrap his fingers around Glorfindel’s arm. In comfort, this time. “And yet the fear rises, and drives me from my bed.” Glorfindel laughed uncomfortably, and shook his head. “I suppose that makes me sound very feeble.”

“I would never accuse you of that,” said Ecthelion, and meant it. “I think I know what you mean, though. Lately sleep has felt more of a burden than a blessing – I have had dreams that wake me more exhausted than a full day on the practice fields.” 

“I know the sort,” said Glorfindel, looking at him with interest. “There is the weariness that comes from physical labor, and it’s almost satisfying, is it not? But when your dreams batter you through the night – nightmare scenarios, or worse, those ones where you do the same thing, over and over, to no avail. How  _maddening_  it is – You wake up feeling as if you’ve been cheated out of any rest at all.” 

“Precisely,” said Ecthelion. He did not say,  _I sometimes end my days feeling as if I have done the same thing, over and over, to no avail. How_ changeless _this life is. At least dreams you can wake from._  They were facing each other now, each with an elbow resting lightly on the parapet, their bodies angling together. Ecthelion was close enough to reach forward and brush away the long strand of hair that had fallen into Glorfindel’s face. 

But he didn’t. 

They stood in companionable silence for a while, as a wind sprang up, bearing with it, as sometimes happened, the faint scent – or its illusion – of the sea. As always, it stirred something wild and evocative in Ecthelion, and he closed his eyes against the sudden surge of emotion. He turned his face into the breeze, letting it blow the hair from his brow. He felt quite sure, suddenly, that Glorfindel was watching him, and, with a shudder of certainty, felt that Glorfindel had swayed lightly towards him. He could feel the moment, just seconds in the future, where Glorfindel would raise a hand and brush his fingers lightly over Ecthelion’s cheek. 

But he didn’t. 

Ecthelion opened his eyes, and the brief, joyous agony of the sea-scent left him. 

He shook himself and straightened up. “I have been remiss in my duties.” He smiled apologetically. “I should continue my watch; I am on duty until just before dawn.” 

“By all means, don’t let me keep you.” Glorfindel smiled too, and tilted his head back, gazing at the sky once more. His hair fell back over the wall, and Ecthelion was seized with the urge to run his fingers through the sweep of it; to wrap it around his hand and tug until that golden head tilted up for him, not the moon, and… 

He clasped his hands behind him, self-consciously, telling himself it was a soldierly gesture, rather than one of childish restraint. “I hope your sleep comes easier.”

“I don’t know that it will,” said Glorfindel, still studying the sky. He lowered his eyes and smiled at Ecthelion. “But sleep, for all its benefits, is overrated.” 

“Yes,” said Ecthelion, and thought of certain things one could do in the night besides sleep, before forcing himself to turn and continue his procession along the battlement. “Goodnight, Glorfindel.”

There were things far less wearying than dreams; but dreams, perhaps, were safer.


	2. I feel you, fathomless, stirring

I climb the heights of our city, because my mind is too restless for sleep. I know these walls keep us safe. They are the art of our hands and hearts, and I am proud of them; I will defend them with my life. 

And yet – how tall they loom. They are omnipresent in my dreams, as they are in my waking hours, but they are at least familiar. I know their broad faces as well as I know my own; as well as I know yours. 

I climb this wall in particular because I know you walk it. 

I know your route; I know how you pace out the seconds of your long watch in your even strides; and I know when you will come to where I wait. 

I wait.

Your footsteps precede you. 

I tell you I flee the encroaching walls of my quarters – this is true enough; I have had little use for sleep, lately. The dreams when they come crowd close and chatter wildly; when they come at all. 

Lately, my mind has been too occupied to sleep. In the stillness, the shadows come, as I tell you, but more rousing and wakeful than those is the heat. The heat that rises in me, distracts and bewilders, crawls under my skin and torches me from the inside out. It feels like an omen, a foreboding, a promise. But I do not fear it; I yearn for it. 

I tell you I came craving starlight; this too is true enough. 

Our people love the light – the light of the stars, of the sun, of the moon, weak echoes that they are of the Trees we once loved. We follow the light; we flare for it; we die for it. 

When you are beside me, the stars seem rather dull. 

The wind sings its lonely songs across the valley; I ignore it. Your voice brings comfort to the night and sends shivers through me in a way the coldest wind could never do. 

They say the fiercest of our kind seem to end in fire, as if their passion ignites their very spirits. 

When your arm brushes mine, I burn. 

We speak of other things. Do we speak of dreams? I remember not, because now your eyes are fixed on the horizon, and your profile stands clear against the moon. I memorize its lines; yearn to touch. 

But I don’t.

Our eyes meet a bare few times. Too soon, you leave. 

I stay a while longer, on the night-grey stone, watching the mountains. My mind still rushes, but with purpose now. Not sated, but stilled, I descend once more to the sleeping city. 

When I return to my bed, the walls seem less close than before, and I close my eyes against the banked burn of the fire. 

I think of your arm against mine; your eyes catching the silver of the stars; the murmur of your voice, and the walls retreat even further. 

And when I look up, just before dawn, to see you standing in my doorway, they fall away completely.


End file.
